


Tumbling Down

by dornfelder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fisting, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Partner Betrayal, Whipping, bdsm w/o safeword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next time Erica goes into heat, Stiles stays away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumbling Down

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Thin Wall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/663513) by [Tassos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassos/pseuds/Tassos). 



> Originally meant as a sequel, this became more of a remix. I made a major change in disregarding the alpha/beta/omega concept – it’s just too alien for me – and working with a slightly different premise. If you are interested in the details, read the notes at the end of the fic. 
> 
> How tassos, with a total of 667 words, inspired me to write knotting kink fic is a complete mystery to me. But those few words tell an incredibly well-woven tale, and each and every one of them went under my skin. The only way to remove them was by writing this, for better or worse.

The door opens and Derek enters the room smelling of _her_. The scratches have already healed, but in the faint light of the dawn the the bite marks are still visible, fading bruises scattered all over his chest. They’ll stay there for a while.

He approaches reluctantly with a heavy footfall. That, and the closed-off look on his face, proves that he knows exactly how much Stiles hates it, what he’s doing with Erica and Isaac every time she’s in heat, although Stiles has never told him in so many words. But just like Stiles’ can’t stay away from him, from them, Derek can’t leave Stiles be, comes to him reeking of sweat and come, Erica’s scent so strong on his skin that even Stiles can smell it from afar. 

Derek walks up to the bed, _their_ bed, the one place that belongs only to the two of them, where none of Derek’s betas are allowed. Stiles doesn’t look at him, turns to face the wall. 

“Go take a shower,” he says, voice almost level, cracking just a little at the last syllables. 

“Stiles.”

“Take a shower,” Stiles repeats without raising his voice, but the venom is there, bitter and cold. He might as well have said, _just take a goddamn shower, you lying, cheating asshole._

He doesn’t have to see Derek to know that the expression on his face right now is a mixture of guilt and determination. Determination because, while Derek knows damn well that what he’s doing is fucked-up, he’s also the alpha of his pack and wouldn’t let his female beta down, and he’s the only one who can do this, the only one who can give her what she needs. 

Derek and Erica would be bonded, the mated alpha pair of their pack, if it weren’t for Stiles. What’s worse is that their time is running out; one day, Erica will get pregnant. There are no condoms for alpha werwolves. Deaton doses her with strong contraceptive injections, stuff that would be dangerous for a human. But even that won’t stop the course of werewolf nature forever. 

One day, she’s going to have Derek’s babies.

The day she does, Stiles swears he will leave for good.

And yet he is scared he will be too weak to make the decision when the time comes. Every time the heat starts, every time Erica’s eyes start shining bright and feverish and fix on Derek with single-minded focus, Stiles swears he’s not going to do this anymore, and ends up going back nonetheless. 

It’s not fair to Derek, divided loyalties and all. It’s not fair to the pack. They don’t want Stiles to feel bad, quite the opposite. The poison has been seeping in, though, tainting everything. Erica resents Stiles for being jealous, and he can’t blame her – she doesn’t have a choice in this, she’s suffering too. Isaac feels guilty, because he could stay away yet doesn’t. Boyd holds himself back from all of them, hating the ever-present tension. And Derek? Struggles to keep the pack together, tries to make it up to Stiles without an inkling how. The options are limited after all.

The shower starts.

Today was so much worse. Boyd was with them. Stiles knows now how he sounds when he’s fucking Erica, taking sloppy seconds while Derek is knotting Isaac for a change, making him howl and snarl and sob. 

Stiles was the only one left out, the single human member of the pack. Left out and hurting, aching deep within, at the very core. Very few things have the power to get to him there – since his mother’s death, nothing else came close. Not Lydia’s rejection, not the beating he took from Gerard, not the revelation that Ethan was only dating him to get close to Scott. They didn’t affect him like this, didn’t really count. 

The hurt turns into anger more and more often. Stiles shouldn’t have to deal with this. He shouldn’t be here at all, in Derek’s house. Derek should never have kissed him, back when it all started, because he knew he would still have to fuck Erica and knot her and breed her.

But it was too late, they were already too deep under each others skin, couldn’t stay away any more than they could change the tides. It would all be easier if they could. Derek’s wolf would acknowledge Erica as his mate if his human side could let Stiles go.

The shower stops. 

Then Derek’s there, smelling of shampoo and shower gel, naked and radiating heat as he slides under the blankets to curl around Stiles. A tentative arm sneaks around Stiles’ waist, the touch cautious, slow. 

Stiles lies stiff and unmoving. 

Derek sighs. “What do you want me to do? I can’t...” 

They had the discussion before, and Stiles knows what he intends to say. _I can’t let her suffer._

They tried it once, held out until Erica was burning up with fever and her cries became unbearable, one continuous wailing howl, until Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore and told Derek to go. The first time since they had gotten together. Until today, Stiles would have sworn it couldn’t possibly get worse than that first time, when the wailing stopped, replaced by moans. 

Why is he doing this to himself? It would be better if he left. 

Derek presses a face to his back, between the shoulder blades, kisses him there and works his way up higher, to Stiles’ neck. His lips are closed, the caress so feather-light Stiles barely feels it. 

“Can I...” Derek whispers, and Stiles wants to say no, intends to say no, but instead hears himself whisper, “yes,” and lets Derek turn him over, pepper him with kisses. 

Lets Derek make love to him with a quiet intensity born from the need to reassure, to reestablish their fragile connection that stretches so thin during nights like these. At least Stiles thinks that this is what it means to Derek. To Stiles it has become the exact opposite; a reminder of how different Derek behaves with him, how he keeps his wolf on a tight leash all the time. 

Stiles’ body is human, easily broken. Derek can’t let go with him, can’t be himself. Maybe that’s what hurts Stiles the most, knowing that during the heat, Erica gives Derek something he can’t. The vicious fucking, going on for hours on end, the knotting: Derek’s wolf revels in it, responds to her in kind, how could he not? 

Stiles can’t stand it anymore, he just can’t. “Fuck me,” he says, and hates how his voice sounds harsh and brittle. “Fuck me harder, come one, Derek, come the fuck on...”

Derek shakes his head. His hands are gentle on Stiles’ skin, cherishing. 

“Fuck you,” Stiles swears. “I can take it. Give it to me.” He scratches Derek’s back, breaking skin with his nails, drawing blood. It has to hurt, it has to, and Derek’s shaking on top of him, and still not letting go of his iron control. 

“No,” he says roughly. “No, Stiles. Not like that.” 

He stops moving altogether. It’s all becoming too much. Stiles starts to struggle beneath him, tries to throw him off. If this was a real fight, he would haven no chance in hell to get away Derek. If Derek wanted to hold him down, Stiles wouldn’t go anywhere. He would have to take it, _everything_ , even Derek’s knot, and in a dark, twisted corner of his mind, he wants Derek to do exactly that, to tie them together and force Stiles’ human body to take him in, to literally tear him apart.

But Derek’s instincts don’t respond to Stiles the way they do to Erica, or Isaac, and Derek would never hurt him. He wants to protect him, keep him safe more than anything. 

“Let me go,” Stiles yells, “Get the fuck off of me, if you can’t fuck me like you mean it, then don’t fuck me at all,” and at that, Derek flinches like he’s been hit with wolfsbane instead of words. Stiles doesn’t care. 

Derek pulls out. It stings, but not enough, not nearly enough. If they were tied together, Derek would not be able to let him go at all, but they aren’t. They aren’t, and that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? 

Stiles curls up on his side, trying not to cry, trying not to lash out at Derek, do more damage than he already has. The silence between them sits leaden and heavy, and he thinks both of them are dying a little inside with every moment that passes. He knows he is. 

Stiles can hear faint noises from the rest of the house, where Isaac is preparing breakfast and Erica is healing slowly in her room, because even after the heat has run its course, Derek doesn’t throw her out. 

She’s pack, and pack is everything to Derek. 

~~~~~

The next time Erica goes into heat, Stiles stays away. 

~~~~~

It’s Saturday night. Jungle is crowded with people, air thick with the overwhelming smell of sweat and cologne and musk. Men of every age are dancing, bodies gyrating around each other to electronic and dance music. Between the flashing lights, the drinks that Sheila, drag queen and sometimes-barkeeper, slips him when nobody is watching, Stiles is caught in the moment, feeling dizzy and a little reckless, while he decidedly doesn’t think of Derek and his betas, back at Derek’s house. 

On the dancefloor with a couple of friends Danny introduced him to after Ethan left town, Stiles enjoys the ecstasy that comes with exertion, electric basses and the pleasant buzz of the alcohol, and still doesn’t think of Derek at all. Doesn’t think of how Erica cries out when she comes on his knot, when _Stiles’ boyfriend_ makes her mewl and beg.

A stranger catches his eye, blond and well-built, older than most of the men around them. Stiles smiles at him and he smirks back, and there’s the edge of _something_ in it, something sharp and predatory and a little dangerous. 

Stiles tilts his head, doesn’t look away. Bares his throat and holds the stranger’s gaze, stating his interest. The guy moves fluidly and graceful, like a tiger on the prowl. It’s nothing supernatural, just the attitude of a man who plays his game well. 

Stiles loses sight of him for a while, but isn’t surprise when an arm circles his waist, and a voice in his ear, low Texas drawl, inquires, “You wanna fuck?”

Stiles swallows, leans back in the man’s embrace. Doesn’t think of Isaac, writhing and struggling beneath Derek’s weight. While Erica is a slave of her animal instincts, Isaac doesn’t have that excuse. He lets Derek knot him as a way to make his wolf submit. He’s not in it for the sex, but for the freedom he finds in the headspace of submission, that he can’t seem to find elsewhere. His howls when he’s stuffed full of Derek’s cock are more wolf than human, and he’s quiet and dreamy afterwards, grounded. 

Stiles doesn’t think of that. Turns his head, says, “Yeah,” in the mans ear and adds, for good measure, “Any way you want.”

Stiles knows he’s only looking legal if you squint really hard, but the guy doesn’t ask him how old he is. He doesn’t want to know Stiles’ name either, and when Stiles asks his, he offers “Tom” with a mocking undertone, so they both know it’s a lie. Doesn’t matter; the name still gives Stiles something to focus on. He doesn’t want to call out Derek’s name – not that there’s any danger of that, because he isn’t thinking of Derek at all. 

Tom takes him to a cheap motel room downtown. “Safeword?” he asks, and it’s clear that the question is a grudging concession, possibly due to Stiles’ age, or maybe Tom is a decent guy underneath the tough exterior. 

“Nah,” Stiles says. “I’m good.”

Tom grins at him, but there’s no amusement in his eyes, only a none-too subtle cruelty and the thrill of anticipation. “You’re asking for it, aren’t you, kid?”

“Guess I am,” Stiles replies, and indeed he is. 

~~~~~

Tom fucks him from behind, his hands tied behind his back. Stiles just takes it, closes his eyes, tries to forget. He’s hurting everywhere, from the welts on his back where Tom whipped him, to the bruises on his hips and the bite marks on his neck, where Derek will.... _No._

“More,” he hears himself say, as if a stranger is inhabiting his body, talking in his voice. “I can take more.”

What he gets is a dildo along with Tom’s dick, spearing him open, and it’s still not enough.

“Your hand,” he demands. “Put your fucking fist inside me. I can take it. Make me scream.” 

Tom gives him exactly what he’s asking for. and Stiles screams for him. His mind goes blank, beyond thought, _finally,_ and he passes out on the filthy, sweat-soaked sheets.

~~~~~

As he wakes up in the morning, Tom is gone. 

Stiles barely makes it to the bathroom on his own, so sore it feels like something’s seriously torn inside. There the realization of what he has done – what he let Tom do to him, and why – hits him with full force. He ends up throwing up in the toilet, shaking and crying. Stiles wants to scream and bites his own arm instead, helpless sobs escaping him now and then, when he’s not biting hard enough. 

That’s how Derek finds him there, on the cold, dirty tiles in front of the white porcelain bowl, body littered with the marks Tom left there, covered in Tom’s scent. 

Stiles doesn’t see him at first, only hears the noise, a small, wounded sound, and as he looks up, Derek is standing right in front of him, stupidly handsome in his leather jacket and a black t-shirt. His eyes are wide. Hurt and betrayal are written all over his face, the expression of pure, sheer heartbreak. Stiles feels a vindictive flare of satisfaction and thinks, _now you know how it feels._

It is the worst thing he could have done. To Derek, who doesn’t trust easily, doesn’t trust anyone at all besides his pack and Stiles. 

And still Derek takes touches him with careful, soothing hands, wipes the bile and snot from his face with a wet, warm cloth, helps him dress and takes him home. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even yell at him, only looks at him blankly, as if he’s feeling just as numb as Stiles.

~~~~~

Stiles isn’t surprised when Derek shows up the next day, He’s been waiting for him, sitting at his desk and staring at the screen of his laptop for hours. He heard Derek unlock the front door, knew it was him even before he appeared at Stiles’ doorstep, keys dangling from his hands.

Stiles turns around on his chair, meets his gaze. 

This is the end. They need to have this one last confrontation before all is said and done.

“Why did you do it?” Derek asks. 

That he’s asking at all is a small miracle. Getting him to talk about shit – feelings, relationships – is next to impossible most of the time. 

“Was it only to hurt me? Because I get that, I really do, but...”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Stiles says and shrugs. “That was a part of it, I guess. A big part, but that’s not all it was, and I... I don’t know.” 

It doesn’t feel like a victory, it never has. It’s killing him. 

“You let him hurt you,” Derek says, and while there’s a hint of accusation in his voice, he mostly sounds lost. “Why did you let him do that to you?”

Stiles has asked himself the same question, over and over again. Part of the answer is that Tom was not afraid to hurt him, that he didn’t hold back. He didn’t have to. Tom was only human, the same as Stiles, and Stiles could take what he dealt. They were equals in a way Derek and Stiles will never be. The more important part of the truth, the one that is harder to admit and accept, is also the part Derek needs to hear.

“It felt good,” Stiles says. “Not the pain, not that, but... being able to give him what he wanted. Being _enough_.”

Derek opens his mouth and closes it again. As much as he obviously wants to deny it, he can’t, because it’s essentially true: Stiles is not enough. Not wolf enough to satisfy the needs of his alpha.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Stiles says. He can’t bear to look at Derek, drops his gaze. He wanted to say, _we can’t go on like this_ , but that would be a lie, because this is on him. He’s the one who can’t live with things how they were.

“I know,” Derek says, and he sounds so sad that Stiles has to look at him after all, and regrets it because the devastation on Derek’s face makes him want to take it all back. He can’t, though, 

“I love you,” Stiles says. “So much. But ...” He needs to tell Derek that it is over, that _they_ ’ are over, and tries to steel himself, because his throat is already threatening to close off. He gets up from his chair, taking a step towards the window. “I want you,” he forces out. “I want all of you, and if I can’t have that...” Stiles shakes his head, runs his hands through his hair again. His hands come down on the window-sill and he grips it tightly.

Suddenly Derek is right there behind him, pulls him around and in his arms and kisses him. It’s frantic and violent, and they fall to the bed together in a painfully tight embrace. 

“One last time,” Stiles whispers. “The last time, Derek, I can’t...”

Derek keens at that, a sound like he’s dying, and his hands tighten their hold on Stiles’ hips, squeezing where the bruises Tom left have not yet healed, and Stiles hisses and squirms and tries to get closer. 

“You have every part of me that matters,” Derek murmurs, sounding as if he is choking on tears, but that’s not true, and they both know it. 

Stiles doesn’t say anything, pulls off his shirt and fumbles for Derek’s fly. He wants Derek to fuck him, wants to feel him inside. Everything that makes him feel less empty, makes him feel less like the space Derek carved out for himself isn’t a vast, gaping hole. But he is too sore, too tender, can’t suppress a pained noise when Derek’s fingers trace the rim. 

Derek growls when he says so, growls and turns them over so that he is lying on his back and Stiles is straddling his thighs. “You can fuck _me_ ,” he says through gritted teeth. 

Stiles inhales sharply. They have never done that, Derek has never let him top. It’s too hard to keep the wolf’s instincts at bay, fight the alpha’s urge to dominate. 

Now, though, now Derek opens Stiles’ bedside drawer with one hand and reaches for the KY and pushes it at Stiles with a snarl. “Come on.”

“Why?” Stiles whispers. His hands are trembling, tightening on Derek’s shoulders. “Why now? I won’t change my mind.” 

“Because I want you as much as you want me,” Derek says, his voice hoarse and barely recognizable. “ _All of you._ You have to know that.”

Stiles takes a deep, steadying breath. “Are you... can you stay in control?” 

As Derek pushes the bottle into his hands, Stiles nearly drops it. He wants this, so much. It’s a bad idea, but he can’t say no. The last time, this one time, he wants to have anything Derek is willing to give him.

“I’ll try,” Derek replies. 

Derek takes one finger, then two. Stiles pulls back, intending to add a third. Derek catches his wrist and pulls him up higher on the bed. 

“Do it now.” Derek lifts his legs and puts them on Stiles’ shoulders, bends in half easily. 

Stiles closes his eyes and prays to whatever deity exists that he will get this right. He pushes inside slowly. It’s tight, so tight and hot, and he has to fight not to go too fast, has to fight not to come. Derek’s eyes are wide and dark, and he stares up at the ceiling, his breathing going ragged. His hands are clenched in the sheets, the nails sharper than usual, but still human, and Stiles realizes how hard he is struggling to stay in control. 

“Move,” Derek whispers, turning his head from one side to the other, restless. “You won’t hurt me. Come one.”

Stiles starts to move, and it all spirals out of control. A couple of unsteady, uncoordinated thrusts, and he’s already coming, _coming_. He keens, a sound of loss and anguish, because it’s too soon, his body’s betraying him in the worst way possible. He keeps on thrusting, can’t stop because he’s so sensitive it hurts, but he can’t let this be over. 

When there’s no way he can keep going any longer, Stiles pulls out with a wet, squelching sound. Derek is breathing heavily beneath him, eyes closed, hands still clenched in the sheets. His dick is hard and leaking between them, and Derek says nothing, makes no demands, doesn’t ask for anything. He trembling, barely perceptibly, faint tremors running through him every time he inhales.

Stiles slides down to take Derek’s dick in his mouth. Swallows him in as deep as he can, until he is gagging on it, then lets up again and blows Derek, makes it hard and fast and dirty. It doesn’t take long before Derek’s hand tightens in warning on his neck, and he comes with a soundless cry, head thrown back. Stiles lets him flood his mouth, pulls off when he has enough to relish it, scent and taste, like he would do with a rare delicacy. He finally swallows and goes back for the rest of it, licking Derek clean with a desperateness born from the knowledge that this is the last time he gets to do this. 

Derek tugs at his shoulders and pulls him up. Stiles comes willingly, sliding up until he’s stretched out on top of him and they’re touching from head to toe. Derek arms are tight around him. Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders, holds on as hard as he can. 

Sweat is cooling on their skin, making their bodies stick together in unpleasant ways. Stiles hasn’t moved yet, refusing, just for a few moments, to think. But time has run out. This is it, he needs to...

“There is a small pack with a mated alpha pair in Ohio,” Derek says quietly in his ear. “They would... they would take Erica and Boyd.”

Stiles lifts his head. Their eyes meet, but Stiles shakes his head after a second, glancing away. He has thought about suggesting it before, has considered the possible outcome. “You would never forgive me for breaking up the pack. You would hate me for it. Fuck, I would hate myself.”

After all they went through, Peter, Kate, Gerard, the alpha pack, after everything, Stiles can’t take that away from Derek, the family he has built himself and fought to keep. 

He lets go of Derek, increasing the distance between them. He can’t bear to be so close to Derek right now. 

Before he can slide away, get up and dressed, Derek squeezes his arms and prevents him from moving. “Stiles,” he says. “Look at me.”

Stiles doesn’t want to, really doesn’t want to, because he knows everything he feels is showing on his face right now, the love, the desire, the pain, everything. But he makes himself meet Derek’s eyes, thinks that they owe each other as much courtesy.

“I don’t want to lose them, it’s true,” Derek says softly, and then, even more quietly, adds, “But it would literally kill me to lose _you_.” 

Stiles gasps. His hands close around Derek’s forearms, clutching hard. “Don’t... don’t say that. Not if you don’t mean it.” Derek doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t. 

But Derek’s grip is strong, and he stares up at Stiles without a shadow of a doubt in his eyes. They are bright and beautiful, achingly honest. 

For a moment, Stiles fails to say anything, his mind blank. Derek sits up, forces him to sit back on his heels, until they’re both in a kneeling position on the bed, facing each other. Derek lets go of Stiles slowly. His hands come to rest on his own thighs. He’s fucking beautiful like that, naked and unselfconscious, clearly struggling not to reach out for Stiles. 

“Please,” Derek says in a soft, clear voice. “I mean it, I really do. What happened made me understand... I get it now. Nothing of this is your fault. It is mine. I should never have...”

Biting his lips, he stops and averts his eyes, stares down at his hands. He is looking years younger than he is. He swallows. Tries again. “I wasn’t prepared for you. I wasn’t prepared for what it meant, what _you_ meant, how it would feel...”

Derek says, “I love you,” in a broken voice, and Stiles can’t bear if for another second, the distance between them, and throws himself in Derek’s arms, clinging to him with all he has.  
~~~~~

Derek doesn’t offer him the bite. Stiles doesn’t ask for it. 

They both know it will happen, one day, but in an unspoken agreement, they don’t talk about it. It’s far too early for that. They need to mend what is broken between them, what has been stretched too thin and torn to shreds – torn almost beyond repair. 

It takes time. It takes more than a year.

Isaac moves in with his boyfriend after long months of learning to trust someone who isn’t pack, isn’t even wolf, with his needs. 

Erica and Boyd come to visit. Both of them are so clearly happy with their new pack that there’s no place for regret or guilt on either side. They are even bonded now: living in an established pack with an alpha pair means Erica doesn’t go into heat anymore, and her wolf finally acknowledges Boys as her mate.

Stiles and Erica hug in the kitchen for long minutes, and Stiles buries his face in her sweet-smelling hair, breathing in deeply, and just like that, what is left of the poison drains out of him. All is well.

The night after they leave, Stiles and Derek fuck on the floor, and Stiley whispers, “Do it, turn me, I want it, please, “ and Derek bites him just before he comes. Liquid fire runs through his veins, it feels like he’s burning and being reborn from the ashes in a rush of blood and heat and come. 

The next night, Stiles takes Derek’s knot for the first time. Derek lays claim on him with with claws and teeth, slamming into him so hard Stiles thinks he might die from how much it hurts and how good it feels. He’s torn apart, already healing again by the time Derek knots him and fills him up.

This time, no one else is around to hear Derek’s grunts and howls and the way he calls out Stiles’ name, like a curse and a prayer. It’s all for Stiles. 

Knotted and locked together with Derek so tightly they’re one sweating, groaning animal, Stiles feels whole in more ways than one.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have read the original fic, the changes I made and the influence they had should be obvious to you. Stiles is still human in this. Erica, as a female beta in a pack with an unmated male alpha goes into heat due to the necessity to provide the pack leader with a fertile partner. But sex while she’s in heat is basically still like any other werewolf sex, so that once Stiles is turned, he can have that with Derek. Without these changes, the ending would be vastly different; I don’t see how the original fic could possibly end on a happy note. I initially intended to stick to tassos’ concept, but I simply couldn’t. Turns out I’m too much of a sap.
> 
> (If you want to argue that by abolishing the a/b/o concept I chose to ignore a substantial element of the conflict depicted in tassos’ fic and took the easy way out, you are possibly right. The a/b/o concept basically says that alphas and omegas have an exciting sex life, and if you are neither, you’re missing out. That’s an issue that can’t be resolved, and for me, the jealousy and infidelity aspects were more important. This is my attempt to address these topics and stitch together the pieces of my poor little heart.)


End file.
